Saturday, April 24, 2010


Again. The same her that he followed down into the town before requesting sanctuary at the church. He cannot deal with this, now. He cannot deal with remembering how she used to play Cat's Cradle and how she would ask him to hold the yarn while she moved the string through and around itself making one string look like a network of strings. He was a young child. Six, maybe. She was a few years older. He doesn't remember. Of course he does. She was nine. But he cannot be thinking of this, now. He has to follow the rhyzomes. He has to pull the caves together and back into people. Because that's how you do it. The eyes make the rhyzomes, the rhyzomes connect the parts of the people, and he can pull on the rhyzomes and collapse the caves, the spaces between rhyzomes, back into people. And then he can go the opposite direction -- not into the people, not into the stench, but back out to the surfaces. The faces. The people on the outside. The person on the outside.

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